


Oblivion

by carefuldean



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Pre-Reichenbach, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:39:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefuldean/pseuds/carefuldean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 'Let's Write Sherlock!' challenge three a while ago.  Imagine if Sherlock delayed the confrontation after figuring out Moriarty's plan for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oblivion

**Author's Note:**

> The characters in this story are not my property. The song lyrics in this story are from the song 'Oblivion' by Bastille.

So this was what it came to.

Moriarty's plan. To burn Sherlock. Of course he knew it would end with his death, but suicide?

This would hurt John more than anything- more than the shrapnel in his shoulder, more than Sherlock's first cruel deduction.

It was as John lied in their bed, sleeping peacefully, that Sherlock came to this calamitous conclusion. Sherlock was standing at the doorway, watching. His violin in his left hand and bow in his right, he turned his back and went to the living room window.

As he put the objects in his soft hands together, he tried to shut off his brain. Over the years with John, his need for drugs had been eliminated; somehow he was able to close his thoughts on command. This time, however, it didn't work. He wasn't able to stop thinking, wondering, questioning. What would John's life be like without him?

_Are you going to age with grace?_

_Are you going to age without mistake?_

It was in the beginning that Sherlock knew his John was different than any of the others. How even through the detective's perfect lies, he could see the truth. John was able to see what no one else could: the pain, the love, the pure human-ness that Sherlock contained. They both knew how utterly lost they were apart, and it was only together that they were whole.

_When you're in my arms_

_But you've gone somewhere deeper._

This was all going to end. Sherlock and John would never have the life they dreamed about together. Not even John would be able to live normally- and after all, neither could anyone whose lover dies. Even though their bonds were much stronger than any mundane relationship. John and Sherlock were soldiers, detectives, freaks. But they were always together, and Sherlock sincerely doubted that anyone else was in his position: there weren't any stories of 'fake' geniuses who have to commit suicide to save their partners.

What would John do after Sherlock was buried? Would he visit the grave weekly? Would he gray completely, without any laugh lines digging their ways into his face? Would he take on a full-time doctor? Not someone that'd interact with people much; probably a surgeon.

_Are you going to age with grace?_

_Only to wake and hide your face?_

The one consolation Sherlock could take from this was that ultimately, one way or another, John would be with him again. That is, if a heaven truly exists. It would take a long time, though. John would not commit suicide like Sherlock will: his sense of duty wouldn't allow that. The one time Sherlock is grateful for John's military experience, and it's because he can take consolation in knowing that the love of his life isn't going to kill himself.

No, John will live a long life. Perhaps one day he'll be able to smile at a pretty girl and buy her flowers. Maybe, just maybe, he'll be able to smile as the girl walks down the aisle in a white dress. John's always been good at acting to make people happy, something Sherlock could never do. And when his day comes, decades from now, John will greet death with the one true smile he's given ever since Sherlock. The smile will be the opposite of the tears Sherlock expected to give, when his time comes.

_When oblivion is calling out your name_

_You always take it further than I ever can._

Sherlock barely noticed when his hand shifted, but suddenly he was playing a mournful melody. It was beautiful, and somehow expressed exactly how he was feeling. Despite his oncoming death, the thoughts of John's future, even Moriarty, Sherlock managed to smile. His last act would save his love, his John.

"Sherlock?" John stumbled out of bed blearily, into the dim lighting of the kitchen. "Are you coming to bed soon?"

Sherlock turned, keeping the bow moving. "I'll be there in a minute," he replied in a broken voice.

John's eyebrows furrowed, and he walked towards Sherlock. As he got closer, Sherlock found the source of his inadequate delivery: the tears trailing down his cheeks. John's thumb grazed one, wiping away the salty water. He leaned forward and kissed the newly dried area of skin.

"Whatever this is, we'll figure it out together," he whispered. And Sherlock smiled again, drawing out the last note of his song before putting his violin down. A small flower of hope bloomed in his chest, and he nodded.

"Together," Sherlock repeated, intertwining their hands as they walked to their room. They'll think of some way to get out of this.

_Are you going to age with grace?_

_Are you going to leave a path to trace?_

_When oblivion is calling out your name,_

_You always take it further than I ever can._

 


End file.
